


Of Dreams and Rings

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Lord Of The Rings AU, M/M, Unrequited Love, elf!Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes in the night. A ranger of the North and an apparent friend of the Kingdom of Fyrien. </p><p>His clothes are plain and worn his tunic holds not a single thread of nobility though his leather tired and his chainmail blacked like a warrior’s he shows no sign of being a knight. But then the only true thing he holds of value is the elven ring around the silver chain on his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Dreams and Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Set a year after the first story because we all now a lot can change in a year.

He comes in the night.

 

A ranger of the North and an apparent friend of the Kingdom of _Fyrien._

 

His clothes are plain and worn his tunic holds not a single thread of nobility though his leather tired and his chainmail blacked like a warrior’s he shows no sign of being a knight, one of his dirty hands cover partially by a fingerless glove the other filthy and bare unwashed blood still sticking to his skin a thick silver and gold ring scratched and well-worn around his forefinger. The belts that hold his dagger and sword is tattered his dark green cloak frayed. His weapons to seem plain even for a warrior his sword genuine, his bow and arrows ordinary but the elven dagger he keeps at his hip is a surprise but apart from that he seems like an ordinary ranger, a man who lives in the wild disappearing into nature to watch over the land and protect it.

 

But then the only true thing he holds of value is the elven ring around the silver chain on his neck. It’s small and would fit only a very slender finger. Silver wreaths grow round a silver flower intertwining and sometimes when the ranger fiddles with it between his fingers in the sunrise of the morning, smoking his pipe it looks like his is holding a star between his fingertips.

 

He never comes to dinner not even to the celebratory feast when gangs of Orcs are defeated and a whole village saved. He is rarely seen by anyone in daylight but when he is he’s in the stables helping tend to the horses. And at night he does not sleep in the provided chambers but either in the stables with the horses or out in the planes in the long grass under the stars.

 

He has no other possessions only the clothes on his back and the weapons in his belt.

 

He has no name.

 

And Gwen who only saw glimpses of him once or twice and heard frequent whispers from the villages of the lower town, castle guards even the other riders of _Fyrien_ but she finally meets him face to face.

 

She is still trying to handle the grief and worry for her brother’s state after the Orc attack and she busies herself with work when she is not at his bedside talking to him, singing, praying that the healers will be able to cure him from his injuries. It pains her to see her father’s sorrow deepen also for his only son and heir and she hopes that something can be done for Eylan.  

 

She is tending to one of the mares when she hears the sudden racket of a horse in distress. The brown horse in question her brother’s is kicking out trying to injury its captors, rearing in an attempt to escape. It nays and snarls viscously and the men look close to giving up but one man in particular puts his hand on the shoulder of the man holding the rope, hushing the horse speaking in a soft, soothing voice in an equally soothing tongue that Gwen doesn’t recognize.

 

He wraps the rope around his wrist as he walks towards the horse not pulling it to him like the other men but allow the horse to drag him closer, turning his face away from the snarling of the horse. At the man’s soothing voice and words the horse seems to become quieter giving one last feeble whine and then silence as the man puts his hand on its snout, stroking it slowly repeating his words over and over like a question waiting to be answered all the while looking the horse in the eye. _“Hwæt nemnað ðe?”_ He murmurs in a foreign tongue.  

   

“His name is Hengist,” Gwen says before she can stop herself. “He is my brother’s horse.” Was she thinks because it is unlikely he will ever ride him again.

 

Amazingly blue eyes turn towards her. She’s seen that flash of blue before under a dark green hood and thick stubbled jaw, a pipe between red lips. This she realizes is the ranger.

 

He’s just like she’d expect him to be. Unkempt and overgrown blond hair, darker than it probably usually is from lack of wash, his face lightly browned from constant sun and dirt. His eyes are magnificently blue, with a cold determination to them fierceness in the way he holds himself, like he could do serious harm to anyone who challenged.

 

He looks at her briefly, nodding his head in such a polite manner it could almost be perceived as a bow such a thing is strange to come from a ranger. He turns back to Hengist stroking him once more. _“Man le trasta, Hengist?”_ He murrurs voice so soft and gentle such a contrast to his appearance all sharp edges and ice cold looks. _“Man cenich?”_

 

Hengist calms completely but the ranger continues to hush him as he undoes the rope and grips his bridle. Still speaking in the tongue that Gwen now realizes is elvish having only heard it once when she was little but she never thought such a language or magics would be known by a ranger of the north.

 

She approaches him slowly the ranger’s attention still on Hengist and as Gwen reaches to stroke the horse’s main it doesn’t startle one bit.  

 

“Forgive me, but I never thought a Ranger of North would know elven tongue let alone their magics.”

 

From the other side of Hengist the ranger watches her closely.

 

“I had a good teacher.” He says eyes fond.

 

“But you speak as if one of their own.” She stutters.

 

“I was raised in Rivendell, for a time. Not long enough to fully learn their language but long enough to learn their teachings.”

 

He sighs giving the horse one last stroke. “Turn this fellow free. He has seen enough of war.”

 

With that he leaves the stable leaving Gwen all but stunned.

 

.

 

When the soldiers’ talk about him they know not his true name for he does not give it even when she asks her father, he just waves her off never letting her the identity of the man only a few choice stories which make no sense. They say elves call him Telconta the constant wanderer and in the common tongue this means Strider, so that is what they call him.

 

The second time she meets Strider she clashes swords with him. Not in a duel or a battle but when she is in the great hall practicing what she thought was along, she turns sword in grip, swinging in a wide arc only to clash with the sound of metal.

 

They stare at each other for a long moment his blue eyes striking and clear.

 

She turns her sword against his dagger sharply and his arm and weapon and thrown out of loop violently.

 

“What skill you have with a blade.” He comments after a moment’s silence. 

 

“For a woman you mean.” She says sharply.

 

He shakes his head the truth clear in his blue eyes. “I did not mean to offend you my lady.” He says his tone gentle as if he was soothing that horse once more.

 

“I do not fear the act of war nor death.” She says sheathing her sword violently her anger still sharp. “I do however fear rotting in these halls for the rest of time as nothing but a married-off princess with all hope of valor abandoned and undesired.”  

 

A hand reaches out to the sword handle before she can throw it down. She looks up to see those blue eyes looking at her, through her it feels like. “You will be a great Queen, Quinevere. I know you will not die without valor.”

 

He looks so open and honest that Gwen can do nothing but stare as she falls into those eyes.

 

The third time is when he saves her life.

 

She is angry with her father, with Eylan getting no better her father begins to talk of her taking up the throne and Gwen so against such a thing takes her sword and one of the horses and rides out to prove herself as more than just a princess.

 

The pack of orcs would have killed her if Strider had not been there.

 

He strikes them down with ease buying enough time for the soldiers to get to her.

 

When her father greets her there is no anger in him just relief.

 

And that night when they have a feast to celebrate their annual autumn festival for the first time Strider is there, sitting in the tables with the other riders.

 

She goes to him with a goblet of wine to show her thanks and he accepts it his fingers brushing hers while Gwen fights down a blush at the intensity of his gaze. 

 

.

 

“You couldn’t have.” She laughs when he answers her.

 

He nods again a small smile on his lips; such a rare thing for she never sees him smile.

 

“My father must be mistaken. You could not have fought with him when he was only crowned king.”

 

Strider shrugs.

 

She laughs again moving the hair out of her eyes. It’s a warm autumn evening and it will be sunset soon. They are in the hay fields and even though Strider has been coming to the feasts occasionally he still sleeps in the fields even when Gwen has attempted to talk him out of it.

 

“That would make you at least fifty.”

 

“Fifty-eight.” Strider replies and Gwen splutters he doesn’t look a day over his mid-thirties unless…

 

“You are one of the Dúnedain.” She gasps at such a thing having only heard of them from stories and fairy-tales.

 

Strider nods in conformation and Gwen gives a laugh. She had heard that their race had passed into legend only a few of them left, the King of Camelot is one of the few still in royalty along with his son and heir.

 

She lays back in the grass staring up the reddening sky.

 

“Why do you stay here?” She asks him tracing a blade of grass purposely not looking at him.

 

“I have no where to go as of yet.”

 

Not exactly the answer that Gwen wishes to hear but she continues with her questions.

 

“Have you no home?”  

 

Strider doesn’t answer for while and Gwen is about to apologize for her nosiness when he beings to speak. “I displeased my father and uncle they disowned me and banished me from my home.” He gives a tight grimace.

 

“That’s horrible.” Gwen whispers.

 

She means to turn her attention back to the sky but the elven ring around Strider’s neck catches her attention like it always does. It does seem to admit a glow not as strong as it has been in the days before less now but that doesn’t stop Strider from reaching for it every so often. Though the silver pattern on it quite large the ring itself was obviously made for a very thin finger. Gwen herself who is quite petite and slight would not even be able to fit a thing like that on her finger. But the glow does attract her eye often and she hopes Strider has never caught her looking at it incase of offense.

 

“That is a beautiful jewel.” She says indicating the ring. “Where is the maiden who gave it to you?”

 

She expects to be snapped at or see hurt cross the ranger’s face instead all she sees is a longing and sadness as he looks into the distance. “Strider?” She asks when he does not answer.

 

“She is to marry, before sailing to the undying lands with her elven-kin.”

 

She watches him as he continues to watch the sunset and the sky redden and turn blue then black. He looks lost of a moment, not in sadness or anger but just lost. It’s so pure and bare that Gwen leaves him in his thoughts wishing that the ranger would have such feelings toward her, dreaming that he would look at her in such a way.

 

*

 

The wind blows through the high grass, a soft breeze dancing through the long branches of the willow tree, the tips brushing against the grassy field. Arthur leans back against the thick tree trunk the bark uncomfortably sticking into his back. Between his lips he breathes in the thick tobacco smoke from his pipe it relaxes him, feeding his deep thoughts but it keeps him from his sleep.

 

_“Go to sleep.”_

 

The wind seems to whisper rustling through his hair, caressing his cheek.

 

Arthur closes his eyes.

 

At the feeling of soft fingertips tracing his eyelids lightly he opens them.

 

Merlin’s face is above him his blue eyes searching Arthur’s, as he strokes the worry lines around them, his expression so open and relaxed that it makes Arthur forget all his own troubles.

 

Around him he can hear the waterfalls of Rivendell, the tweeting of birds and the elven music playing not far off. He lays on a chaise lounge, no longer wearing his ranger cloths but instead a high collar elven tunic and breaches. His hands are clean no longer covered by dirt or blood but he still wears his royal ring around his forefinger.

 

Merlin wears a simple navy dress robe of silk and Arthur reaches out running the material through his fingers. ”You look so tired.” Merlin whispers.

 

As he looks at that face he can’t help but be clouded by a dream, when just not so long a go he was out in the damp and cold betrayed by his father at the hand of his uncle in an attempt for the man to get the throne himself, while his father slowly looses himself to age. “This isn’t real.” It can’t be but then the dream changes to something else something he remembers a distant memory he’s tried to forget.  

 

 _“Mankoi_ _la tur-ha-n_?” Merlin asks playfully leaning forward so his face is an inch away from Arthur’s his soft lips capturing his in a kiss. Arthur’s hand moves from his side to cup Merlin’s cheek and the wood-elf draws back.

 

“Merlin.” He whispers like a prayer and a blessing willing himself to enjoy this moment. Merlin smiles, stroking around Arthur’s eyes silently telling him to close them, to get some sleep.

 

When next Arthur does open his eyes Merlin is standing out on the open balcony looking over Rivendell. He’s so beautiful and Arthur doesn’t mean to break the moment but his worries once again return to the center of his mind.

 

Arthur speaks anyway against his better wishes. “I cannot stay here.”

 

Merlin turns to him pale face set in a frown. “But you have no where else to go.”

 

Arthur shakes his head and grabs Merlin’s hands when the elf reaches him for once they are both the same temperature. “Your father will not agree with me being here.”

 

“My father has no say in this.”

 

Arthur laughs at Merlin’s naivety. “As the lord of Rivendell he has every say.”

 

 _“Quettar.”_ Arthur starts at hearing the word, not the usual elven tongue he is use to hearing but Quenya only spoken by the oldest of elves. It’s beautiful but Arthur realizes that Merlin used it for that very reason to distract him from his thoughts. 

Seeing that Arthur can’t be won over Merlin asks: “What troubles you?”

 

Arthur looks down at his hands still holding Merlin’s then looks back up to the elf waiting patiently for him to answer. “I worry for Camelot,” Arthur says finally, Merlin’s expression still open, encouraging him to continue.  “I have not been a good prince to them, abandoning them in their time of need, leaving Agravaine to control my father. Maybe he was right in banishing me.” 

 

Shock comes across Merlin’s face at hearing such words, his hands leaving Arthur’s cupping his cheeks forcing Arthur to look him in the eye. “They are wrong.” He says voice strong and determined “You are the King this land needs Arthur, it is your destiny to be the greatest leader this world has ever known.”

 

Arthur wraps his arm round Merlin’s waist bringing him close so he can bury his face in the soft silk around his abdomen breathing in his scent. As he speaks Merlin’s hands move to stroke Arthur’s hair. _“Mal dolen i vâd o nin.”_

 

Though he can’t see Merlin’s face he knows the wood-elf is smiling. _“Si peliannen i vâd na dail lîn.”_

 

At the feeling of Merlin’s hands unwinding his arm from his waist, Arthur lets him willingly but he wants nothing more to remain close and hide away. Merlin uncurls the fingers of his left hand and something cold and heavy in weight is left to lie in his palm.

 

He looks down to see a ring upon a long silver chain; it is not like the ring Merlin wears around his finger, which is a simple Silver band with an elvish engraving, this one is silver but it shines like Arthur is holding a fallen star in his hand and at first Arthur can’t make it out because it is so bright. The band is thick and all silver, made completely of mithril Arthur realizes, with a large flower and a diamond jewel in the center.

 

 _“[Nenya,](http://www.clevercrow.com/nenya.jpg)”_ Merlin’s fingertip touching the ring as he says the elven name. “It was my mother’s. She gave it to me before she passed and now I’m giving it to you.”

 

Arthur starts at Merlin’s words shaking his head. “I cannot take this.”

 

“It’s a gift.” Merlin laughs but his eyes clear in the fact that he is not taking it back.

 

Arthur stares at the glowing ring as he feels Merlin sit beside him once more. “You will be a great King Arthur you must trust that.”

 

Merlin’s fingers curls around Arthur’s who are still holing the ring.  

 

_“Estelio ammen **.”**_

 

.

 

Balinor is nothing like Merlin, Arthur thinks though they share the raven hair and the hard dark blue eyes Merlin’s inner nature and gentleness must come from his mother because when he looks at Balinor all he see is anger and dislike.

 

“Do you really think I would allow this infatuation to continue?” Says the Elf-lord his voice sharp and hard that it would make a lesser man flinch, Arthur however stands his ground.

 

Rivendell is in darkness now and Arthur’s inhabitance of the elven wood is being addressed but most importantly to Balinor the relationship of Arthur and his son. “My son has the chance of a better life but he is prepared to abandon it all for you.”

 

To Arthur the question of whether not it is love that Merlin stays for or the hopes of Arthur fulfilling his destiny. And Arthur prays for the former to be Merlin’s answer because at times he is unsure of which no matter how much longing and affection he sees in Merlin’s eyes.

 

“Do you really think he will still look at you the same when you are in your late hundred’s and finally succumbed to the age of man?” 

 

It is true in the years to come if death in battle does not take him, it will be age like it does his father and it hurts to hear.   

 

“Let him go that is all I ask.”

 

And Balinor the elven king of Rivendell for but a moment looks like a father, pleading for the life of his child.

 

.

 

“You have a duty to your people.” Arthur says the next morning no longer in elven clothes but in his ranger’s garments once more, not a king or a knight only ranger of the north, a wonderer and a warrior not someone worthy of elven princes.    

 

It’s hard to look in Merlin’s heartbroken face his eyes full of confusion at Arthur’s words but he forces himself to because this is what is best for him. “You are always telling my destiny is the most important thing.”

 

“This is not the same—“ Merlin voice but a whisper.  

 

“Merlin.” Arthur says soothingly interrupting. He wants nothing but to reach out and touch him, comfort him but if he does so he’ll never be able to let go like he should.  “It was passing fancy Merlin, an attraction fueled by lust,” Arthur takes a shallow breath forcing himself to keep looking into those now glassy eyes, “nothing more.”

 

“This belongs to you.” He says hand-outstretched fingers unclenching to reveal Merlin’s ring.

 

Merlin does speak for a moment, just gapes slightly tears threatening to fall. When he looks up at Arthur again his eyes are hard and cold and to Arthur in that moment he looks so like his father. “It was a gift,” he says his fingers wrapping around Arthur’s closing them as their last touch, and with a voice as sharp as nails he says: “keep it.”

 

 

*

 

The next morning when Gwen sets off to the stables a smile plastered on her as the sun tries to shine through the blanket of cloud, it’s colder than it has been for a while and it feels like winter will be here again soon. But nothing can wipe the smile off her face.

 

However upon entering the stable she sees it is oddly quiet, hardly any of the men are there and maybe it’s because of the early time.

 

At the sound of a strap being tightened Gwen turns towards the noise to see Strider saddling Hengist.

 

“Where is everyone?” She asks and Strider gives her brief glance before continuing with his task.

 

“One of the outer villages was attacked last night.” He says while preparing the horse to ride. His horse now, the ranger had refused any reward her father offered after he saved her in till her father insisted that he at least take Hengist and give him a new master. “It is believed to be a new breed of orc, your father sent out patrols in the early hours.”       

 

“And you are riding out to meet them?” She asks and when Strider doesn’t meet her eyes she fights down panic.

 

Strider finally finishes his preparation when he looks down to her. “I have been called to the East by an old friend, I have promised him a favor.”

 

“You cannot leave now.” Gwen says eyes bright as she grips one of his cold hands in her’s pleading with him to stay to call this his home now.

 

“Why are you here?” And this time his voice is slightly sharp and impatient.

 

“Surely you must know.” She whispers moving close to those blue eyes till she can feel his breath on her face.

 

Realization and guilt form in his eyes. “Quinevere.” He says her name slowly and quietly and Gwen let’s herself hope for a moment but then he moves away from her, taking back his hand leaving only dirt behind.

 

“It is but only a shadow you love.”

 

The hurt spreads through Gwen like the cold as she draws back tears in her eyes.

 

“I am sorry.” Strider says true sincerity in his eyes, as he reaches up to dry away the tear that has fallen on her cheek. “But I cannot give you what you seek.”

 

He pushes up the hood of his cloak giving her one last bow of the head before him and Hengist leave the stable.

 

Outside it is cold but Gwen does not leave the stable till she hears the sound of heavy hoof falls on the frosty ground. Only then does Gwen let herself breathe out a sob.

 

Outside snow begins to fall. 

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: LONG NOTE
> 
> First things first Translation:
> 
> "Hwæt nemnað ðe?" - What is your name?  
> “Man le trasta, Hengist?” - What troubles you, Hengist?  
> “Man cenich?” - What did you see?  
> “Mankoi la tur-ha-n?” - Why can't it be?  
> “Quettar.” - Words. (The elves didn't have a word for semantics so I settled for this.)  
> “Mal dolen i vâd o nin.” - But my path is hidden from me.  
> “Si peliannen i vâd na dail lîn.” - It is already lain at your feet.  
> "Nenya," - Variation of the Quenya world for water  
> “Estelio ammen.” - Trust us. 
> 
> LOTR Trivia
> 
> Nenya is one of the three elven rings created worn by Galadriel it has powers to protect and shield people from evil. At some point I will explain Merlin's heritage for now I'm thinking of Balinor as Elrond and Hunith would have been in Galadriel's position before she married Balinor and then I'm thinking someone else will have taken her place (I do have someone in mind and Arthur will be meeting her in the near future) mostly I made up this complicated plot because I liked the idea of Merlin giving Arthur something precious and a ring because it's impossible for him to give Arthur his own plus it's a tie in to the Aragorn and Arwen story with the neckless. 
> 
> Strider is the name given to Aragorn by the men of the north he later takes it as his house name in Gondor which is Telconta the elven translation. 
> 
> And darling Gwen - she comes off quite childish in my eyes in contrast to Éowyn but that is just the way I wrote her without realising in till I read it back sorry if this is not to some of your liking. She has a lot of growing to do and her relationship with Arthur will contribute to that. I never hated on Gwen myself but I did find her a bit of a weak character who just suddenly found her strength one episode. Though I don't plan to revisit Gwen while she does this we will see her again as a grown woman and kick ass warrior! Fyrien is the castle that Gwen and Eylan are kept by Morgause and Cenred I just used it as their kingdom instead of using Rohan. 
> 
> And to Arthur - I have so many plans for him thanks to my recent rewatching of LOTRs - he still needs his showdown with the wraiths, his battle with lurtz (the kick ass uraki who killed Boromir D:) which I had written part of but it's lost on a different computer which I won't get at till April but I can promise that, as well as traveling the dead marshes and meeting our band of knights and Gandalf or in this case GAUIS the Grey popping up. But most importantly fixing his relationship with Merlin - who will have his things to do and choices to make. 
> 
> As for timeline I will say on the beginning note of every story.
> 
> Some of the elvish and lines were taken from the movie or slightly changed I'm sure fans of LOTR can spot them so I can't take full credit for some of the dialogue and of course the creation of middle earth. To any book fans I'm only referencing to it in trivia wise and some plot because the main love story doesn't really feature at all. 
> 
> I feel like this is my two towers, every one is off on their own adventures and I have to some how make them all come together and get their happy endings.
> 
> I did not plan on this being a series so be patient with me and my LOTR muse.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos on the previous story they were grande!
> 
> PS: Apologises for any mistakes Elvish or otherwise.


End file.
